Went to Kelkolo's in Middletown last night to hear Peter Anthony. Always entertaining, Mr. Anthony. In the course of things, I imbibed in two double desserty latte-ish drinks (leaded) and when I went to bed the caffeine induced physiological affects were pretty evident. I slept OK (and was up early) but it was a lesson learned in the "wow, thats pretty much how you were all the time before you stopped drinking caffeine" vein.
Peter was Peter. Which is to say amusing, entertaining, tender, and occasionally touching on the sublime and divine. I owe a lot of my "less is more" picking and strumming from him, he has come to joke about two string songs (and noted that I have commented on that in the distant past). And I confess to knowing much of his canon by heart, simply from hearing these songs (the ones he writes, the ones he covers) so many times over the past 15 years.
Peter's friend K was there, who I run across at WHY. She works at a senior home, prompting Zippy to comment that she'll kill herself before going into one of those. Now maybe this is the response of a person who has enjoyed fairly good health, who has not dealt with a lifetime of discomfort, medical intervention, and juggling the effects and side effects of medications for multiple diseases. But at this point in life, I do not feel the same way. Each breath is a new learning experience, each breath is precious.
Yoga? Spiritual awakening? A lifelong optimism and hope? Or the overly optimistic and pollyanna-ish beliefs of someone who has yet to butt up against real pain, sufferring, and discomfort in her life. Not sure.
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